Posted on: 2016-04-09 by Delirium

In 2013, I went through a depression deep enough for me to consider suicide. After a week or so of such thoughts, I had a dream in which I actually DID kill myself. The result was....well, I won't say surprising, as I had no expectations of what would await me on the other side, but it WAS incredibly bittersweet. Basically, I was stuck in my mother's house, at the same age and developmental level. My friends grew up around me, married, got jobs, LIVED essentially, and while I could watch them do these things, I was unable to do them myself. I couldn't leave the house, and I wasn't allowed to GROW. The word I used before - bittersweet - is the closest adjective that comes to describing the pathos of that dream. It wasn't until everyone I knew and cared about died that I was allowed to pass on. We went to this sort of heaven-like afterlife...it wasn't a good place, it just...was. It was a blank sheet, and there were other people there, basically. I don't believe in an afterlife or omniscient deities, being a radical atheist, but still...it was kind of refreshing to be in a different environment after all those years, but depressing at the same time, because I knew I had not lived my life to the fullest - hell, I barely lived my life at all - dying at the age of 15. So, anyway, I woke up from that dreaming not knowing if that would ACTUALLY happen, but also knowing that I couldn't risk it happening. So - scratch suicide, lol. Hermithood? (Nah, I love you guys too much. ;) You'll just have to put up with me.)